Progeny
by tore-my-yellow-dress
Summary: "Bad timing," Grace states, numb. "That's the reason I exist." Set six months after 5x15. WIP.
1. Shock

**A/N- Okay, I did the cliche of all cliches, and I can't even defend myself. Sorry, not sorry. Special thanks to Josie, because she helped me figure out some details that I would have otherwise struggled with. This is part one of three, and if I get enough reviews, I'll be driven to post the second installment by tomorrow. **

* * *

I.

/

She flinches away as the blood seeps, focuses on the echo of her friends' voices; Marcus with his floppy hair, Amelia with her perfect eyeliner. Jess is filing her nails, and Stefanie is doing next hour's Gov homework. Claire is absent, so she's alone at the table. On her own.

"Are you going to pass out?" Marcus inserts with a snicker.

"No," Grace swallows hard, and snatches a paper towel off the onyx counter. She tries not to sway on her barstool, tries to focus on not vomiting, or crying, or doing something equally as mortifying. The crimson is stunning against the white, and she dabs quickly, looks away.

"Who's next?" she asks, hastily.

Grace keeps pressure on her finger as best she can as she writes down a few words on her lab report, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. Marcus snatches the object in front of her away, and Stefanie clears her throat. "Hey, what's the extra credit question?"

"Grant," Jess says, thoughtless. Grace looks up.

"Jeffrey Grant," she murmurs in answer, going a little pale.

"That's the dude who shot all those people a couple months ago, right?"

Grace looks at Marcus, with all his tactless words. "Yes. And if you'd done your extra credit for Government, maybe you'd actually know what you're-

"How's your mom?" Amelia cuts in, trying to ease the tension. "She doing any better?"

Grace Florrick visibly wilts, stares at her scrawling print glumly. Looks at it with the same distaste as she does her own blood. "Getting there," she whispers, meets Amelia's eyes.

"I bet you're kind of glad it wasn't your mom who actually got killed, though, right? I mean," Marcus lowers his voice, and Grace knows he's trying to be sincere. Marcus tries, at the very least. "It wouldn't make you an awful person to be relieved it was just her friend."

Grace looks at him and wants to tell him all about the nights she's listened to her mother cry herself to sleep, of the days when her mother looks like all she wants to do is swallow a bottle of pills, how everything is covered by Alicia's dull façade of useless reassurances and simple pleasantries. How her mother still shakes for no reason, sometimes, when she thinks Grace isn't looking.

But she ignores his words, ignores his pitiful ignorance. She ignores the fact that even if her mother isn't dead, there's a part of the woman that exists no more.

"It's been six months." Jess reaches out to rest a hand on Grace's arm. "Grief is a process."

Grace pulls her arm away slowly, offers up a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"I've never stopped praying for her," she admits, quietly.

/

Zach shoves a handful of Cheetos in his mouth, a pig with hair and opposable thumbs.

"Ugh," Grace makes a gagging sound, walking around the kitchen counter to grab a soda from the refrigerator. "We're ordering pizza," she reminds him.

"I'm hungry now, though," he grins boyishly at her, flicking her shoulder with his cheese stained fingers. His sister shies away, makes a noise of discontent.

"How was traffic on the expressway?" he asks her after a moment. Grace takes a sip of her drink, struggles not to roll her eyes. She's only officially been on the road for eight months, but that still doesn't stop anyone and everyone from coddling her, worrying for her.

Especially Mom. Mom's been all about the _life is too short not to take every possible precaution _thing, recently. Grace doesn't blame her, though. Grace doesn't blame her at all.

"Fine. Dad will be here in thirty, right?"

Zach frowns. "I had to pick up an extra shift at the campus book store, and forgot to pack an extra set of clothes. Do you think I could spend the night at Mom's-

"No. Zach, you know how it is now." Grace furrows her eyebrows deeply, sad. So sad. "Tonight's Dad's night with us."

"I'm nineteen, though," Zach responds in such a way, such a blank affair, that Grace knows he's trying to put on a show, trying to wear a mask like he doesn't care. But he does. She knows he does.

"You don't legally have to live by my rules," Grace tells him solemnly. "But it would be nice if you would."

Zach's mouth lifts at the edges, and he stares at her from across the counter, pops another chip in his mouth. Chews slowly. Grace scratches her nose, and for a long moment, they sit in the silence of the Governor's mansion, taking in the peace and quiet.

Until Grace moves, abrupt, finds her bag and plucks something from the side pocket.

She waltzes up to her brother, casually finds his left hand, and-

"Shi-shiz," Zach howls, and Grace nearly laughs at him. Zach's whole face contorts, and he jerks his finger away. "That freaking _hurt, _Grace."

"If you're going to swear, swear," Grace snorts. "It's for a school project, okay?"

"Screw you," Zach throws out. "And making me _bleed? _Are you kidding me?"

Grace scratches her nose, tossing her sun kissed tresses over one shoulder. "It's for _science, _Zach. Tell me you've never done something _for science."_

Zach makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Stop. Just stop. Aren't you a Christian? What has gotten into you? No, wait. _Don't answer that."_

_/_

They drive back to the apartment that evening, after dinner. Peter tells them it's okay, tells them it's not a big deal, and Grace almost believes her father's words. Calls her mother three times to inform her of their arrival, but Mom won't answer, and the second they get within city limits, Zach turns to her. The windows are rolled down and September's breeze makes her hair blow.

"I lied," he informs her, only a bare hint of regret in his eyes. "I only wanted to get back home because there's this party, and-

"I'm not going," her eyes widen, like he's just told her he's taking them to the circus, and-

"I know. I thought I'd drop you off at home before I went."

He does, and she watches the car go, asks God to keep him safe, to keep him out of trouble. Sometimes, Zach reminds her a lot of Dad. She'll never tell her brother this, knows it would just hurt him. Living in a shadow of a ruined man is hard enough, but being told you're his ghost would be even more shaking, and-

Grace opens the door with her key, creeps in because half the lights are out. "Mom?" she whispers into the silence.

Her mother is curled up on the couch, still in her suit. Black heels are strewn next to the coffee table, and there's folders everywhere. Grace remembers five years ago like it was yesterday, how her mother had thrown herself into cases like this, how every client had been a test. Since her mother and Cary merged with Diane, it's been like this. Constant working, even more than it was before. Grace takes in the way her mother looks like she's aged ten years, even in sleep.

The way her body is strung tight, no sign of relaxation. No sign of peacekeeping.

There's a lump in her throat, and Grace reaches down to pat her mother's on the head, wake her with soothing circles in her hair, almost a scalp massage, and-

"Will," Alicia whimpers, in her sleep.

Grace pulls back like she's been burned.

Wants to cry.

"Mom," she says, voice risen. "Mom, I'm home."

Alicia nearly falls off the sofa, with how her body seizes. "Grace?" she wonders, sleep and fear all in one timbre. "Grace, you're home. You're supposed to be-

"We worked it out so that we could come home. It's okay. Zach's in bed, and you need to go to bed too, so you don't get a crick in your neck. Okay?"

There's a wine glass on the table, empty.

Alicia hums painfully, hand moving to soothe her muscles with the pads of her fingers. Which reminds Grace, and-

"Actually, Mom- wait."

Alicia looks up at her daughter, still half asleep, goes to stand to go to her bedroom.

Grace is at her side in no longer than another ten seconds, fumbles for her mother's finger in the gentlest manner. "I'm going to take your blood, okay? It's just a little prick."

Another split moment, and Alicia gasps, grunts. Grace watches her mother stick her finger in her mouth, her whole body strumming tight with tension. "_Ow," _Alicia says around the digit.

"Sorry," Grace apologizes promptly, turning on her heel. "Bio project, yeah? Night, Mom."

/

It's twelve minutes past midnight by the time she gets to it.

Her eyes are already burning, and she studies the word document in front of her, comprehends the facts in short spurts. Goes to write down the analysis for her mother, and moves onto the section titled 'Results', begins to interpret, form her-

Grace stops in her tracks.

By the third times she's checking her work, her hands are trembling.

The seventh, her lip begins to wobble, and by the ninth, she can smell the salt permeating her nostrils, can feel her body begin to heave with the mere implication. She's in shock. She can't believe it, but every time she goes to check it's the same outcome, and she doesn't understand how it's possible, wonders if she may have contaminated the collection, might have-

But she knows she didn't. She knows she didn't because she took two samples from each person. From herself. From Zach. From her mother. From her…

From _Dad. _

Grace physically flings the paper across the room, listens to it rebound off her computer desk with a satisfying thump. Turns out her light, falls back into her bed, and pulls the covers over her head. Pulls her knees up to her chest like a child.

She will not find sleep for a very long time.

/

At half past six her alarm goes off, but she turns it off and curls back around herself.

Things are still hazy, and she lays there and tries to find dreamland again, squeezes her eyes shut as tight as she can to will reality away. Some pigmented truth, because all she can think of is how it's not possible, how they would have told her by now if it held any ground. Grace lays there until her mother knocks on her door worriedly. Alicia hasn't had to get Grace up for anything in a few years at the least, and the hinges swing open.

And Grace doesn't move.

"Sweetie, are you sick? Grace? _Grace?" _

Grace thinks she just won't move, until she realizes the vision of her lying there, unresponsive, it must make her mother think-

"I'm sick," Grace strains to say, chest tight. "I'm really sick."

Alicia is at her daughter's bedside in an instant, smells like expensive perfume and Mom. She rubs Grace's back through the comforter, and Grace wants to scream. She wants to scream and she wants to ask questions, and she wants to go to sleep and never wake up. But then her mother stops, pulls away. "Alright," Alicia mutters, worry still searing through her every movement. "I'll call the school. Do you want me to take off work to take you to the doc-

"It's fine," Grace grimaces. "Really. Please."

Alicia stands, runs a hand through her hair, and sighs mournfully. "The exhaustion is finally getting to you, huh? Rest. You need rest."

/

Her mother leaves and Grace finally moves around eleven, moves like she's in slow motion. Goes to her computer, looks over the results one more time. Staggers back to her bed, buries her face in a pillow.

Begins to sob.

/

She takes a hot shower around two, one that leaves her skin in blotches, and after she gets out, Grace leans into the mirror and studies her reflection. Compares and contrasts. Thinks of the color of her hair, the curve of her mouth. Remembers how blonde her curls had been as a little girl, how everybody always went on about _where did that come from? _And she feels like she can't breathe, or think straight, or understand. She can't understand.

She doesn't _want _to understand.

At three, she feels such a fire in her gut, such a hum in her veins- that she strides into the kitchen, rips open the cabinet door. It resounds with a thump, and Grace thinks about how she's a _good girl, _a _sweet girl. _Thinks about all of the stupid titles, all of the expectations.

But she doesn't know who she is anymore, and she pours herself a glass of wine because she can. _She can and she will and her mother isn't going to stop her and her father isn't even-_

Grace takes a sip of the red liquid, and has to spit it out in the sink.

She smacks her lips, face contorting in the unpleasant aftertaste.

After a moment, she grows uncomfortable in her own skin, washes the glass until it's as spotless as it was before she did anything to it. Puts it back where it came from, and prays that nobody will ever know she had such a weak, pathetically rebellious moment.

/

Alicia's heels clack when she walks in at five, and finds Grace on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her. Grace's hair is in ringlets, face free of makeup, and Alicia has missed her daughter like this. She's missed how Grace looked before she went through the ultimate makeover of teenage desire, before she started wearing mascara and using a straightener on a daily basis.

Right now, Grace looks like any other sixteen year old, with her innocent aura, with her pink, fuzzy slippers. But then she meets Grace's eyes, sees the expression on her daughter's face.

"Grace," Alicia's nostrils flare, her green eyes narrowing. "Are you okay, sweetie? Are you feeling any better? I got off work early to make sure you were okay, picked you up some medicine at the CVS in case you wanted to see if-"

"You didn't need to do that," Grace says bleakly. Her voice is wild, desperate, and she's trying to rein it in, but it's hard. It's so _hard._

"Grace, what's wrong?" Alicia asks, point blank. She drops her purse and sits down next to Grace, stomach pitting when her daughter proceeds to shift on the couch, move as far away as possible, won't even let Alicia touch her ankle to comfort her.

"Nothing."

It's strange, Grace thinks, for her mother to be so enraptured by the way Grace looks, wrecked on the couch. Alicia has looked like this for a good portion of the past few months, but when Alicia takes it in, it's a shockwave. It's focusing her attentions on someone who matters, someone important, just one more person who has an irrevocable piece of Alicia's heart, and-

She's Grace's mother. There are only so many things that would have Grace shaken up like this, and Alicia throws her shoulders back, even if the answer is more terrifying than the question. "Grace," she addresses, sharp. "Grace…"

"Are you pregnant?"

Grace's mouth opens with an audible _pop. _She splutters, goes red in the face. "Mom, _no. _No."

Alicia has the hysteria running through her to laugh at her daughter's reaction, and a part of her is outwardly relieved. Alicia cocks her head, flashes a bit of teeth in a half smile.

"Then, what is it? I know something's wrong, Grace. You're not going to fool me, okay? You're my baby girl, and-

"Fool you," Grace whispers. Her expression has gone from aghast and embarrassed to dark, dark, dark, in an instant. "That's funny."

Not haha, more irony, more inner turmoil rattling Grace's chest, buzzing in her ears, and all the sixteen year old can do is bow her head and speak clearly, as clearly as she's capable, what with her vocal chords like steel rods she tiptoes across. Suspended in waiting, because what she's about to say could change her life forever.

Or it could all just be a bad dream.

(Like she knows her mother wishes the events six months ago were. Some terrible nightmare. A living nightmare.)

"I had a Bio assignment," she starts. "It was due today."

"You…didn't finish it?" Alicia implores, eyeing Grace like she's just grown a second head.

"I did," Grace murmurs, pinches the bridge of her nose, and tries not to cry. "I did, and that's the problem. It was blood typing, right? That's why I've been pricking everybody's fingers and testing the blood. And you're O plus and Zach is A negative, which makes sense because…because _Dad_ is A plus. That makes sense. But _I'm," _Grace's entire form shudders, and she's trying not to cry, but she can't, she can't-

"I'm B negative, Mom," she half wails, muffles it by her hand.

Alicia stares at her like she's not comprehending, like her daughter is speaking a different language.

"Who's my Dad?" Grace demands brokenly, tears fresh on her cheeks. "Who's my Dad? Because it's not…_Peter. _It's not-

But Alicia won't answer her. Gradually, Alicia begins to move, and when she does, she pulls her knees to her chest in a similar stature as to what Grace had done last night, in her pristine pants suit and all. Alicia holds her knees to her chest, and begins to hyperventilate.

"Mom?" Grace tries to get her attention, rushed. "Mom? _Mommy? _Please, just tell me who-

And then Grace _looks _at her mother. Takes in the way she's falling apart at the seams, the way Alicia is crying silently, has the appearance of a woman who has just learned her whole life has been a lie, and-

"Will," Grace realizes, and she doesn't recognize her own voice. It's low. Lifeless.

"Will is my father."

Alicia reaches her daughter's eyes, finally, as if she's been pulled from a frozen lake, still choking on air. Hurting all over, bone deep, in a way she's been trying to block out for months. "I'm so sorry, Grace," she pleads. "We had- after Zach was born, we had, _once_- and I had _never _thought-

"He's _dead!" _Grace shrieks, voice going from lacking emotion to infinitesimally shaken, to Grace standing, stumbling, and biting down on her fist because she realizes the horrible truth. Alicia is startled by her daughter's yelling, taken aback, pain licking at her limbs.

"He's dead, and I won't even be able to- Oh my God."

Grace stops making a scene, all the blood draining from her face. She doesn't even fathom she's taken the Lord's name in vain, can't even see what's in front of her because of how her vision is blurred from the tears, and Alicia tries to get up off the couch, tries to touch her, but-

"No! No, you- he's dead, he's dead and I've never even met him, and-

"Grace," Alicia inhales gravely. "Grace, please."

Her voice is like gravel.

But Grace all but runs to her room, slams the door harshly and locks it behind her.

Doesn't open it for anything.

/

Grace finds his Wikipedia entry, that night.

He was a good lawyer, but she wouldn't have needed to find that out by reading about it online. He was a good lawyer, and he donated to local basketball and baseball organizations, and he never married, never had children. Which is a lie, but. But it doesn't matter.

Still, even if it doesn't matter much now, Grace says a prayer that night that wherever her father is, he knows. Because even if she never knew him, he deserves to know that she would have _wanted_ to know him, and even if she's furious and stricken with her mother, she wants Will Gardner to know that he's missed like a limb, that all these months have been Hell. She's prayed before, but this is different. This is different because it's a thousand times more personal.

More real.

"Please, give me a sign, God. Anything. _Anything._ In Jesus name, I pray. Amen."

/

Grace cries herself to sleep, that night.

Like mother, like daughter.


	2. Ripple Effect

**_A/N- I still cannot believe I'm writing this. I'd promised myself I would never, and then boom. Grief makes you do funny things, huh? Because this is literally the only way I can make peace with the idea of Will Gardner dying. Welp. Here's to surviving tomorrow night, y'all. We're all gonna be here for each other, okay? We're family. Fandom means family. And family means nobody gets left behind. Or forgotten. Hope you enjoy and review! One more chapter to go, and it's more like a resolution piece._**

* * *

_II._

_/_

Grace twists her doorknob to the right at five minutes after seven, right on the dot.

She clutches the strap of her messenger bag and licks her raw, bitten lips. Starts for the kitchen, maneuvers a sharp left to go straight for the front entrance, to leave as quickly and efficiently as possible, but then her mother's voice rings through the air, and she startles.

"You're going to school?"

Grace wills herself not to stop, mentally. Tells herself that if there's any time in her adolescent life to be perfectly insolent, this is it. But she can't. She can't because of the way her mother sounds.

Because of the rock in her windpipe, too.

Reluctantly, she turns to find her mother's presence. Scowls. "Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

But her might softens as she takes in her mother's appearance. Her mother obviously hasn't slept, but there's a gentleness in her demeanor that wasn't there before, a sort of motherly affection, and Grace wilts at it. Alicia quirks an eyebrow at Grace playing dumb.

Finds Will in Grace's resilience.

It's strange, how a few sentences can alter one's entire perspective.

"I still have a biology test today," Grace informs her mother, finally, when she knows her mother isn't just going to let her walk away. "I still have…_life."_

"I know," Alicia whispers, pushing back from where she was leaned up against the granite island, walking past her daughter, and grabbing her coat. Grace watches her mother put on the designer material over her sweats, watches her mother toe on some old tennis shoes from underneath the hat box.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you to school," Alicia responds, as if it's obvious.

/

The seatbelt digs into her middle because she's pulled it so tight, and Grace feels small. Feels like a speck of dust on a windowsill, shivers with the apprehension of waiting for her mother to say something. It's easy to ignore something, when it's not sitting two feet away, when it's not looking, speculating. Studying.

"Mom, you're staring," Grace says, and it comes out strained.

"Sorry," Alicia murmurs. She looks away promptly.

The girl prepares her words, has nearly rehearsed them in the mirror. Knows what she wants to say, how to say it, and when to say it, but still- it catches on her tongue, chokes her. She knows what she wants to say. She knows what she wants to ask, all the questions that have spun round in her pretty little head, things like-

"Are you going to tell Peter?"

The name feels alien in her mouth, but she keeps her expression controlled. Alicia's mouth slackens, her eyes going dim. "You can still call him Dad, Grace. He'll always be your-

"Mom," Grace cuts her off, harsh. Alicia doesn't flinch away like she did last night, but she doesn't protest to the tone, either. Understands that the easiest defense is anger, is throwing things, clearing desks with sweeps of hands, and she focuses on the road to stop the memories.

"Yes," Alicia finally answers, stopping at a light. "I've decided to take off work today for that very reason."

It makes the hairs on the back of Grace's neck stand up, a cold feeling in her stomach, because it's real. It's real, and her father is going to find out, and nothing is ever going to be the same, and-

"Can I tell Zach?" Grace wrings her hands in her lap. "Please? I just- I'd like to tell Zach."

Alicia's gaze flickers over to her daughter, face pinching. Grace sounds panicked, looks sick, with her eyes closed in somber defeat. All Alicia wants to do is soothe, to hold her to her chest, to make it all a bad dream to wake from, but she can't. She can't do anything but watch Grace, floundering.

"If that's what you think would be best?" Alicia tests, cautious.

"_Mom." _Grace shakes. Afraid she'll ruin her makeup, because they still have miles to go before they get to the school, and she just can't handle it, all too much, just like last night, and- "Don't talk about this like it's normal, okay? This isn't the time to explain why I think it would be _best _if my brother heard from _me _that I'm—I'm a…," Grace says the word, spits it out of her mouth like a dirty thing.

Grace utters the word.

Alicia goes pale, like she's been slapped across the face.

The car jerks, slows, and Grace realizes her mother is pulling over to the side of the road, right along a café. She's not parking, but Grace sits on the edge of her seat, watches her mother's every movement. Alicia is like she was last night- a statue of shock and unspoken things- and Grace would give anything to know what is going through her mother's mind. Give anything to understand.

"Mom, I didn't mean it," she tries to say desperately, blood draining from her face. Regrets hurting her mother immediately. "Mom, I swear I didn't mean it."

"_No," _Alicia breaks precisely, fixes Grace with a hard, unforgiving look. Grace has never seen her mother look so furious, so driven. Mossy stare pierces, and Grace wants to open the car door, wants to run as far as she can from everything. Her face is hot, but she feels cold, and-

"No," Alicia says again, when Grace tries to open her mouth. "You are going to listen to me, and you are going to listen _well." _

It's a long, tense moment, when all Grace can focus on is the ticking seconds, the pop song on the radio turned down to barely audible. Just barely, but enough to annoy her, to make her head rush.

"I loved your Da-," Alicia stops herself, takes a deep, shaky breath. "I loved _Peter. _I have never lied to you or your brother, Grace. I was married to him. I shared a life with him. I did love him."

Alicia's mouth quivers, and she looks down at her hands, tries to keep her voice steady, to come out discernable. "But what Will and I had was…what we _were_ was…"

Grace concentrates on her heart thundering in her ears, presses her knuckles up against the freezing windows. She's going to be late for school, she notes. Thinks she might be getting ready to faint, and just the way her mother says his name. Just the way she says it, like it's most heartbreaking thing in the world.

"Grace, you're not a bastard child," Alicia's breathing hitches, a sob caught. "You're not, you—don't you _ever _think that, because you were conceived out of-

"Mom," Grace croaks, ears flaming, watching her mother's tears spill.

"-out of the purest kind of _love," _Alicia finishes, covering her mouth with her hand. It's hard to put a label on something that was so unattainable, so undefined. But she knows, knows in her heart that they weren't- dirty, torrid, wrong- and maybe that's all that matters. Maybe that's the only truth.

That, and Grace. She's had Grace all along, and she hadn't even realized it.

"I never, ever want to hear you refer to yourself as that _ever_ again, okay?"

"Okay," Grace mumbles, wiping her own face. Gutted.

Her heart is _aching._

_/_

"Are you sure you don't want me to get you excused from-

Grace shakes her head, rushed. "I have bible study after school, so you don't have to-

"I remember, Grace," Alicia smirks tiredly. "I just thought, this morning, we needed to-

Grace's nostrils flare. "Mom. It's fine. I just- I'm already late. I have to-

Grace slides to stand from the car, but feel's her mother's hand on her arm, stopping her. Alicia doesn't hug Grace. Knows better. "I love you," her mother leans in to whisper in her ear, presses a kiss to her daughter's cheek in goodbye.

"Love you too," Grace responds, barely there. She pulls away.

/

It's irrational, and probably not true- but that day, throughout all her classes, sitting down for lunch- it feels like everybody is staring at her. Like her mother had, in the car. Feels like she doesn't know the skin she slinks in, like she's a foreigner in her own body. Grace knows who she is, knows genes matter none in the outcome of a person's soul, but it still wreaks havoc in her mind, makes her question. Makes her resent.

She resents the part of herself that is suddenly, bleakly _glad _she's not a part of Peter Florrick.

She writes her last name and stares at it, jumps when Mrs. Kim touches her shoulder. "Grace, do you have your genetics lab from yesterday? You know the extension policy for being absent is-

"I know," Grace snaps, and Mrs. Kim frowns. "I won't be turning it in."

It's out of character, and Jess is looking at her, and Marcus has his head raised like he's eavesdropping, too. "I won't be turning it in," Grace reaffirms.

After a pregnant pause, Mrs. Kim looks even more disappointed, but then understanding flits across her features. "Alright. You'll take a zero?"

"I will," she confirms softly, grades be damned.

The polarizing piece of paper is on her bedroom floor, anyway.

In lots of little pieces, these broken things.

/

When she gets home, her mother is at the dining room table, paperwork in front of her. Grace waits to approach her mother, walks like she's precariously approaching a deadly animal. It's silly, in retrospect, because her mother is a torn woman, tear marks fresh across her cheeks. Another ten years of aging, all in one day. She's been through so much. Grace worries for her mother's health.

"Mom?"

Alicia looks up from what she's been reading carefully. "Hey, sweetie," she tries to feign casual. "How was your day?"

Grace drops her bag, sits down across from her. She ignores her mother's stalling.

"Is he mad?" Grace questions, half of her afraid of knowing.

Alicia's rubs her temple, as if she has a migraine from all the pressure. "Hurt," she says, finally, wounded herself, remembering the way Peter had screamed.

The way he had cried, too.

Grace blows her bangs out of her eyes that grow more solemn, still. "Right."

"He loves you so much, Grace. He's always going to be your daddy," Alicia goes on, looking at Grace and wishing she didn't carry the aura of someone so serious, trying to will her to understand, but wishing she didn't have to. All she ever wanted for her children was to never be adults as children, to never have to face things they weren't ready for, to shield them. She looks at Grace, and she thinks she's failed miserably.

"Why did you…?" Grace trails off, wants to change the subject. Unsure how to word what she wants to understand. "Why did you cheat on _Peter?" _

Alicia looks at Grace and sees Will's expression when he was frustrated, sees that curve of her mouth. Grace looks like Will. Grace looks so much like Will, and she'd never seen it, before. Or maybe she'd never wanted to see it. Maybe she's been lying to herself for sixteen years, and Alicia feels like crying, wonders when all the tears will run out.

It happened six months ago, that third week. And now the grief is all new, because Will is never going to-

"It was the first American Bar Association conference I'd ever attended. It was in Baltimore. Will was originally from Baltimore," she remembers, a faraway gleam in her eye. "It was the first time I'd seen him since graduation day, because he didn't make it to the wedding, and we…"

Grace's mouth parts. "You don't have to-

"No," Alicia cedes, hoarse. "No, I want you to know. Because it's important that you know that after, Will had known it was going to eat at me. He had _understood_ that we couldn't be anything. Because Zach was still so little, and I had a life in Chicago. I had a husband. He knew me well enough to know that I wasn't The Type."

"So, the thought never crossed your mind that I might've been-

"It didn't," Alicia mutters, harsh. "I had no clue. We'd been…_protected," _Alicia blushes. "But I'd had the flu, so _Peter_ and I had guessed the medication interfered. And then I thought it was the flu that had come back, but then it went on and on. By the time I realized, I really thought you were-

"Peter's," Grace finishes, eyes wide as saucers. Horrified. "It never dawned on you that you had also been with –

Alicia cringes.

"It wasn't like it that, Grace. I thought it was a sign. I thought you were a sign that I'd made the right choice. That I'd made an adult decision."

"He always said we had bad timing," Alicia murmurs, close to tears again. She remembers the way he'd said it, that night at the bar, that night in her office. How he'd kiss her neck, hold her like he was protecting her from all the bad things, and-

"Because I missed Will," Alicia admits to her daughter, holding her middle like she's going to fall apart. She misses Will so much, with every fiber of her being, and it's not like sixteen years ago. She doesn't have the opportunity to casually bump into him at a conference. She'll never touch him again. "I spent so much time with him in law school, and then when he was suddenly there, it had been easy. And even if Peter and I were married, it had been hard. We'd been fighting, and then Will was _there, _and I missed him, and even if it wasn't the right time to be together-

"Bad timing," Grace states. Numb. "That's the reason I exist."

Alicia reaches out to hold her daughter's hand, strokes over her skin softly.

"I think if we ever had _good _timing, it was you."

Alicia gets up to retrieve the glass of wine she'd made, earlier. Grace blinks away tears.

"I saw you guys kissing, once."

Alicia had just taken a sip, and struggles not to spew the red everywhere.

"It was when you guys had a thing, what was it- two years ago? No. Three years ago," Grace recalls, shrugging. "He knew I'd seen, and he saw me over your shoulder- and you should've seen his face- it was like a teenager that had been caught by-

"He never told me," Alicia growls, disgruntled that Will had kept something notably important from her. What if that's the reason why Grace had started looking further into religion for answers, the reason Grace had gone missing for-

"No, no. Mom," Grace laughs. A real laugh, feels like the first in days, and Alicia halts the negative thoughts. "You had been like, 'You okay?' And I had put my finger to my lips to tell him _not to tell, and_-

Grace bursts into fiendish giggles. Alicia doesn't find it funny, but smiles, smiles until Grace's amusement wanes.

"That was my father," she quiets.

She's suddenly, jarringly _sad._

"He probably didn't even want kids," Grace goes on, darkly. "He was like forty, and he never married because he probably didn't want-

"He would've adored you, Grace," Alicia puts down the stem on the counter, moves toward her daughter, leans down and presses a kiss to the crown of Grace's hair. She tastes salt, voice clogged with tears. "He would've loved you, if he'd known. Please don't doubt that."

"I was mad at you, you know. Because you never introduced him to us, even as your boyfriend, and at least I could know who he is, in a sense."

Alicia tenses, waits for her daughter to push her away. But Grace doesn't.

Her heart breaks as Grace begins to heave in her arms, her body wracked with sobs. "I guess it's better this way, though, right? Because I don't have anything to miss," her voice breaks on the word, turns to bury her nose in her mom's neck.

"Oh, Gracie." Alicia pulls her daughter up from where she'd been sitting, fully wraps her arms around her. She rarely ever uses the nickname anymore, but-

"You really loved him, Mom," Grace breathes, squeezes her mother just as tightly. "You know, I've been praying that God heals the hurt because you'd lost a good friend, but I hadn't realized how much you- how much you_ loved him- _and." A noise catches in the back of Grace's throat.

"It's ironic, because like last week, we'd been talking in bible study, how maybe God gives you soul mates, people who you're meant to be with, and then-

"Grace," Alicia warns, retracts to fix her daughter with a look. "You think Will was my soul mate?"

Grace feels admonished, biting her lip. "That's what I'd _like _to believe. I mean, I know you don't believe in-

"I think-"

Alicia closes her eyes, for a moment. She thinks about him. She lets herself remember him, gives herself to the remembrances. Just for a moment.

For the first time tonight, she doesn't feel like she could cry.

"I think you might be right," she says roughly.

Grace lets out a short gasp, throwing her arms around her mother's neck.

"Do you think God gives you two soul mates in case one of them dies?" Alicia wonders in no more than a whisper, and Grace sniffles. Alicia rubs Grace's back, like she used to, when Grace was but a child.

/

"I'm not biologically Dad's," Grace tells Zach.

Their alone in his dorm room, and he's still wondering why Mom let Grace drive up all by herself.

And Grace says it, just like that.

Zach looks at her like he can make no sense of what she's saying, and his neck rolls all the way to the right. Confused. "Grace, you're not adopted."

"No," Grace nearly smiles, because even in forty eight hours, she's coming to grips with it. It feels like there's a presence around her, a strength. She's finding peace, even if at times it still knocks the wind out of her. It's getting better. It's a process. "I know I'm asking a lot of you, but it would mean an awful lot to me if you wouldn't freak out, or not speak to Mom, or-

"Grace, I was at the hospital when Mom had you. I was little, but I remember seeing Mom pregnant, so you're-

But then Zach stops himself, the same fateful realization, the same dimming of his eyes. "You're not Dad's."

"No. I'm biologically Will Gardner's."

And then she takes a deep breath, because this is the most she's said biologically in one conversation in all her life. The word is easier than the other. It feels more realistic, more right. But Zach is practically dry heaving, scrubbing his hands over his face, and Gosh, he looks like Peter. Or Dad. Or-

"Mom didn't know. I could've been Peter's. It's- wow, that makes Mom sound like a slut. But she's not," Grace defends, from her own stupid thoughts.

Zach's mouth is still hanging open, but he closes it, tries to find the right words. "No. Mom's not a slut. But, wait. You're Will's- then, you- Grace."

And he stops, eyes glittering. He reaches out and touches her shoulder. "Grace, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Grace shrugs him off, tries to smile to reassure him. "It's fine. It's just- it's not like a whole lot is going to change, okay? Because Dad wants to pay for my college, and he still wants to be a part of my life. Like, he's probably going to walk me down the aisle one day, and-

"But it is going to change the way you act around him, Grace. Don't deny it." Zach grimaces. "How are you not catatonic?"

"I don't know," Grace admits, jaw slackening. "I'm just taking this a day at a time, I guess."

"You look like him," Zach realizes, green eyes going wide. "Holy shit, you look just like him."

"Hey," she reprimands his language, inclining her head.

"It's the hair, I think. But you're still my little sister," he goes on, a note of somberness in his voice. "It doesn't matter if we're half siblings, okay? It doesn't matter-

"Zach." Grace's breath hitches, and she leans over. Hugs him, clings. "Of course it doesn't matter."

/

The following Saturday, her mom is working this huge case, and she knows her mother didn't eat breakfast, so she takes a platter of croissants up at eleven, just because she's in the mood. It's not that life has returned to normal, because normal is a thing of long, long ago. Life hasn't been normal since before Dad slept with hookers. She remembers her innocence and wants to scoff at it.

Strolls through the hallways of Lockhart, Florrick, and Agos, and thinks about her father.

Will Gardner, not Peter.

Her mother had pulled out some pictures, two nights ago. Her mother's hair was curly and everywhere, and she was sitting next to Will at some bar, leaned in, one arm around his shoulder. Her father looked handsome, looked normal. Looked young, and happy.

That's how she wants to think of him.

Not shot dead in some courtroom, not the topic of conversation for her friends at lunch, in class. She doesn't want to remember him like that, because now, seeing these offices, meeting the people he saw on a daily basis- that's the only way she'll ever know him. That's all she'll ever have, so she cherishes it.

She's learning how to cherish it, to accept it.

"Grace," she hears her name called, and turns.

It's Kalinda. She remembers Kalinda, but Kalinda looks like she's aged, too, same as her mother, same disquieted look in her eye, same sadness. It's not present in the sense of now, but it's lingering below the surface. Unfathomable loss. That's the phrase of being.

Kalinda looks at her like she knows, and Grace is okay with that.

But then Kalinda walks forward, pulls her by the arm. "I was going to drop this off at Mom's office-

"I know," Kalinda intercepts in accented English, nodding. "I mean, I just wanted…wait right here, please. There's something I want to give you."

Grace shifts on her feet, an awkward look on her face.

It's not that she minds, but-

But Kalinda is back in a flash, takes Grace's free hand, and puts something in it, some round, hard object.

Grace stares at the baseball like she's never seen one before.

"Kalinda-

"It was his," she explains, and then Kalinda appears embarrassed, almost unsure as to if it's alright that she's-

"Thanks," Grace whispers, rolling it around a moment. Truth is, she doesn't know what to say.

"I just think he would want you to have it," Kalinda rushes to say, almond shaped eyes flitting over Grace's features, finding Will in a way she never had before. And then turns in her heeled boots, throws words over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Grace. It was very good seeing you."

/

She waits for her mother, nibbles on a sweet and studies the ball as if it holds all the secrets.

When her mother finally arrives, she doesn't even realize it until Alicia clears her throat.

Grace looks up from her position in the office chair, and her mother offers a watery smile.

"You okay?" Grace asks her mother.

"Yeah," Alicia assures, shaking her head wordlessly. "Memories, is all."


	3. Sign

**And, with this chapter, this story comes to a close. Thanks to all who have read, reviewed, favorited, or followed. Hope you enjoy this final installment. This one is for Josie, because she kicked my booty to post it. Love you, girly. **

* * *

III.

/

She's halfway through makeup work on her mother's office couch when she hears a light tap at the door. Grace had decided to stay, after the brunch snack. It was airy in the room, bright, with the sunlight of the afternoon streaming through the open windows. Skyscrapers and quiet. That's the perfect environment for her today, better than sitting alone in her room.

Besides, this was Will's place. This was the place he dedicated his life to. She doesn't know nearly as much as she'd like, but she knows enough to piece this together.

Her gaze flitters to a woman with glasses perched on her slanted nose. Dressed to the nines, elegant in structure. It's-

"I'm Diane," she hears, and Grace's ears go red.

"I don't think we've ever met, Grace." Diane tests the name, inclines her head. Takes off her glasses. "May I come in?"

The sixteen year old's face begins to heat up, because wasn't Diane Mom's boss, once upon a time? And now Diane is her mother's partner. (And how can she think about that without it sounding homosexual?) In the span of a few, scant seconds, she can't manage to postulate much, besides:

"Yeah, uhm. Yes. Of course. Miss- Mrs.-

"Just Diane, please," Diane prompts, walking forward and gracefully settling herself down into the chair next to Grace.

Grace's eyes dart for the entrance of the office. "Are you looking for Mom? She's in a deposition, I think."

"Actually," the older woman inhales deeply, worrying her thin upper lip between her teeth. Diane looks nervous, which is strange, because it's so unprofessional, and Grace could take one look at Diane and see the epitome of class. "Actually, I was hoping to speak with you, Grace."

Grace's stomach turns. "If it's about me being in here, then-

"No," Diane cuts in sharply, looking offended, and Grace closes her mouth, because the last she wanted was to bring negative responses out of someone with the kind of power to make Mom miserable, and-

"I had just wanted to see how you were doing," she watches Diane explain, and then stops in her own, naïve tracks. Realizes.

"Oh."

Diane looks down at her hands, frowning. Grace follows her gaze. "I love your rings," she blurts.

The woman's laughter is simultaneously creepy and comforting. "Thank you."

After a slurring, awkward silence, Grace clears her throat, even if her voice still comes out unsteady. "I want to be a lawyer."

Diane's face lights up, slowly. But it hovers there, like with Kalinda, like with Mom. Nostalgia.

"Do you?" Diane thinks on it for a moment, smiling in a more sincere fashion. Lip splitting grin. "That would figure, though, wouldn't it? I'm not a betting woman, but I would put money on you being a fantastic attorney. It's…in your blood," Diane says the last three words as unsure as Grace, as tremulous.

It's hard to find the right words, when everything is so uncharted.

"You were really close with my-

Grace breaks off, but the funny thing is, Diane understands. She doesn't have to finish the sentence. Diane, by some fray, knows how hard it is to finish the sentence.

"I was," Diane confirms, nodding her head heavily. "Will was my best friend, and one of the best men I've ever- no. One of the best people I've ever known. He was the heart of this firm. I miss him very much."

There's a lump in Grace's throat, but she just stares at Diane, reaches her hand out to touch Diane's arm. She doesn't know what else to do. Like with Zach, like with Mom, when she'd broken down six months ago. There's only so much.

"How are you, Grace? Really. I know I'm not someone you know very well, but-

"I'm not angry," Grace whispers; speaking openly, honestly. "I think people keep expecting me to be ticked off, but I'm not. It's just sad. I wish I could've known him better, but I don't resent him for never…I don't resent Mom for being with him, with she was still married to my Dad. To Peter. I'm glad I'm here."

Diane puts a hand over her mouth, eyes welling up with tears, and Grace holds her own breath, closes her eyes and wishes it wasn't happening like this. But Diane seems trustworthy. Diane seems like she won't judge. And that's all there is, right now.

"I hope you're not upset that your mother told us," Diane continues after a moment, face darkening. "Kalinda and myself- Kalinda is-

"No, I know who Kalinda is," Grace cuts off Diane, shaking her head and sniffling, offering up a slight smile. "No, I'm not…I'm not ashamed." She opens her mouth, vibrates with the truth, the confidence. "I'm not ashamed that my father is Will Gardner. It's okay if people know."

"That's very mature of you, Grace," Diane's nostrils flare, like she's trying not to start sobbing, trying to bite back the emotion. "But you haven't even really had time to come to grips with it- to _grieve_." The word is tender, mangled.

"I know," Grace admits, brushing her sun kissed hair out of her eyes. Her face is blotchy, eyes bright and yielding. "But I'm trying the best I can to figure it all out. That has to count for something."

"You've definitely attained your mother's resilience," Diane mutters to herself. "But you have Will's stubbornness. One day, Grace, you're going to make one _hell _of a lawyer."

/

Diane gives her Will's sisters' names and numbers.

When she leaves with her mother that night, Grace leans against the back of the elevator and studies the black pen on the white slip of paper, memorizes every letter, every numeric.

It's like finding parts of herself she'd never discovered before.

/

Her mother is the one who wants to have the conversation with Sarah, and for it, Grace gives her mother free reign. Alicia is probably better at hard talks than Grace is, probably by a mile and a million. But after Will's older sister answers, her mother's face grows dim as she starts talking.

As Grace snaps to, out of the haze of syllables, she realizes her mother has gone into her bedroom, has shut the door. It's a long time before she comes back out.

When she does, her face is red and rubbed, like she's been bawling. Everyone does so much crying, these days. Grace can vaguely remember a time when it was happy, cheerful, bliss. Normal.

"If you'd like," her mother starts, cautious. "They want you to come up and see them. In Baltimore. Aubrey will come down, too. You'll be staying with," Grace watches her mother search for the word. "You'll be staying with your other grandmother."

Grace is very still, but murmurs something in recognition. Of course she'll go. Of course.

But-

"Does Jackie know?" Grace wonders aloud.

Alicia's face contorts.

/

Grandma and Uncle Owen give her space, is the thing.

Uncle Owen sends her emails, calls, texts. Grandma drops by with a couple gift cards, and gives her a big hug. They don't hover. They don't dig.

But Zach is still Jackie's grandson. Grace knows this. Grace knows she shouldn't expect anything from the same woman who has put her mother down time and time again, yet it still cuts like a knife when all she gets is these hateful looks after the news breaks. Jackie's been Grace's grandmother. Jackie's been an integral part of her life, and now she's just the bottom of a shoe, and it doesn't matter.

At the end of the day, good riddance to that awful woman, with her standards as high as a kite, with her morals that could smother. Jackie isn't a true Christian, Grace thinks, because Jackie doesn't have a kind bone in her Yzma-like body. A snake. Jackie is a snake.

It stops bothering her, stinging her even a twinge, when she sees Jackie for the third time after Peter confides in his mother that Grace isn't his. It's at the Governor's mansion, and Grace's date is almost there, and the dress clings to her form like a glove.

Grace feels more like a woman in the blue, sleek material. Feels like light years away from a child.

She's holding her clutch, has kissed Dad (Peter, Peter, Peter) goodbye, hovered in the doorway. Conner is late, but that's okay-

And then she sees Jackie, and her face falls. "Hello, Grace."

Jackie says her name like a dirty word. Looks her up and down.

"You look-"

Grace's eyebrows raise, waiting for a compliment, waiting for some shrivel of hope that maybe, just maybe, Jackie stills cares enough. But then-

"Well," Jackie scoffs. "It all makes sense now, I suppose. The women on Peter's side of the family have never struggled with maintaining their weight."

Grace's mouth pops open.

Then, it closes.

Then, she grinds her teeth. Hard.

Eyes flashing, and she feels like a storm is crawling up her throat, feels like _screaming. _And she's always held back, when the older woman made these profanely rude comments, when she was so careless, so hurtful, but now, but now-

"You know what, Jackie?" Grace says, words steel.

Jackie narrows her eyes, looks surprised Grace isn't just letting it roll of her back.

"You can go _fuck yourself." _

Jackie gasps, head swishing to see if anyone has heard, looking scandalized. "Excuse me, young lady, that is no way to speak to-

"To whom? My elder?" Grace bats her eyelashes, feels just like her mother. Can almost imagine her mother saying these things, with this particular cadence. "I've never been happier in my life, Jackie. I sincerely thank _God _I'm not in any way, shape, or form related to you. You're such an ugly person."

Jackie's nearly hisses with contempt, taking a step towards Grace threateningly. "I'll tell your father you-

She knows she shouldn't. She knows it's evil, and God is frowning upon her, and this is a sin, but it just feels so throttling, so empowering, so she twists her head. Grace smiles like the next Cover Girl.

Innocent.

"You can try. But you know me. They know me. I'll just tell them you're going crazy. Who do you think they'll believe, Jackie?"

Something in Jackie Florrick's face slackens, and Grace turns in her high heels. She's learned how to walk in them. Sways her hips as she goes for the sidewalk.

Leaves without a backwards glance.

/

Her palms sweat profusely, on the flight. She can't sleep, can't get comfortable in one position. Shoots apologetic glances toward the person on the aisle seat, some businessman in a suit. She wonders if Will was like him, was constantly traveling. It's so strange, still, to have a part of her she barely knows. It's weird.

Grace wonders when the last time was that Will had the opportunity to make it back home, before he died. Maybe a Christmas, a Thanksgiving. Some meaningless holiday, and then-

What if he was Jewish?

Grace cocks her head, focuses on the dingy seatbelt across her lap.

Grace is a little put out that she might've missed out on Christmas gifts _and _Hanukkah, if that's the case. And then she feels guilty, that he's dead, and the petty sentiment of materialistic things is even on her mind.

She rubs her slick hands on her jeans, and tries to find a magazine.

/

The airport smells like an airport, and Grace's legs shake when she steps down from the plane to the connecting dock. Tries to run a hand through her curling hair. Her flat iron does nothing for her in the drizzle, doesn't matter that she got up two hours before her flight just to make herself look presentable. None of it matters.

She stops in the passageway before the door to the gate, moves to lean up against the wall, trying not to have a panic attack. Other passengers pass her, giving her worried looks, and she's trying to get herself together. She's trying really, really hard.

"What am I even doing?" she mouths to herself, rubbing circles over her temple.

/

Here's how she expects it to go:

Uncomfortable, cringe-worthy hugs, someone will offer to take her bags. Quiet questions about basic, trivial matters. She will consistently say the wrong thing. Later, tonight, after a dinner she won't enjoy, after being glared at by her new grandmother, who is twenty times worse than Jackie, she will call her mother, in tears.

The whole 'expect the bad' thing of a few months ago- yeah.

Grace unbelievable assumes the absolute worst thing in the world, because at this point in her life, it's typical. Bad timing is what she's made of, and all.

/

Here's how it_ actually_ goes:

/

She's a few steps into the sea of people at the gate, when something very small, and very solid, proceeds to tackle her leg. Grace tries not to stagger back, looks down at the little girl with honey curls, with sparkling blue eyes. "Erm, hi, sweetie, are you-

"Mommy, I found her!"

It hurts her ears, how the little shriek pivots the air, but then Grace looks up, and-

She totally facebook and twitter stalked Aubrey and Sarah, and this is definitely-

"Hi," Sarah greets her, warm, but eyes hesitant. As if she's afraid of how Grace will react. Grace looks back down at the little girl, makes a noise of confusion.

"Rosy," Sarah admonishes. "Let her move."

Rosy, apparently, leans her head back to meet Grace's eyes, giggles like peeling bells. "It's been forever since we last saw each other. I missed you."

It feels natural, to hoist the small child up on her hip, throw her bag over her shoulder without a second thought. Grace throws an assuring smile in Sarah's direction, tries to make sense of the development. "Well, I missed you too," she plays along. "How long has it been?"

"Like a _century," _Rosy murmurs, as serious as her elfin features will allow. "But Auntie Aubrey showed me pictures on her phone, so I already knew you looked like a princess. And everybody thinks you look so _old, _and-

"Alright," Sarah cuts her six year old off, face the color of a tomato. "We've got to get Grace back home, okay? Let's get a move on."

"So," Rosie starts, as they begin to move towards the baggage claim. "Has Mommy told you about Mimi's doggie, Sammy? It's really tragic," dramatics are punctuated in every syllable.

Grace struggles to keep her features schooled. "Nope, I don't think so. You're going to have to fill me in on a lot of stuff. I've been away for a while."

Sarah gives her this look- it's filled with respect, with love.

Grace looks at her aunt, and thinks that this woman is family. Looks at her cousin, with her hair- the same shade Grace's had been, when she was a toddler.

_This is my family too. _

She repeats it to herself until slowly, dauntingly, she begins to accept it.

/

The house must be her grandmother's, because even if it's modernized, newly renovated- it seems barely lived in. Front walkway is grey stone, with columns, and Grace remembers how it felt to come home before the scandal, when they lived in a house where the neighbor's association was constantly berating Mom about the grass, or the flowers-

And she walks in the door, Rosy's hand clutched in her own, and even if the nerves are there, she uses them for the better. She takes them, and she channels them.

But she doesn't have to, because if Sarah is stable, Aubrey is a whirl wind.

They're waiting there, for her, right in the door.

Aubrey is up against the banister, and a woman with her grey hair in a flawless bun must be-

Must be _Mimi. _Or-

There's men there, too. Must be Sarah's husband, or Aubrey's boyfriend- and didn't Will- her dad- didn't he have uncles, too? So, this must be-

She hears somebody inhales shakily, and Grace snaps to.

Meets Aubrey's eyes, and then Aubrey practically _barrels _towards her.

"I'm sorry," Aubrey laughs wetly, squeezes her tight. She likes the smell of Aubrey's perfume, not standard and clean like Sarah's car had been. Sandalwood. Aubrey smells like sandalwood, and her hair is the same shade as her own, and-

"I wasn't supposed to smother you like this. Woops."

Aubrey pulls away, tears still falling down her cheeks, and Grace shakes her head, tells her it's alright, looks past her aunt's shoulder to her grandmother- who is crying, too. Silently. The kind of silent tears she has, sometimes. Ones that brew and then bubble over, and she knows there must be a connection, somewhere-

Because Will's mother smiles at her.

It should be uncomfortable, but it's not.

Not even a little bit.

/

Dinner is delicious. She doesn't know how she's lived so long without the taste of Mimi's (or Miranda, whichever she prefer, to quote the woman), peach cobbler. It's flaky, melts in her mouth. The peaches are ripe, and Rosy peels them while she help Mimi cut. Everybody asks her questions, but the words come easy.

They don't mention him, not really.

Only when they're sat down for dinner, and she has her fork hovered in the air, does Aubrey choose that moment to go, "Jeez, Will would be glad you don't have his nose."

Grace's mouth slackens, unsure how to take that, until Sarah snorts so undignified that she has to cover her mouth, and Rosy laughs because her mother is laughing. Mimi even cracks her lips upward, but the nostalgia is there for her, like with Kalinda, with Mom, with Diane, with everybody.

"You do have our coloring, though," Aubrey pipes up, sticking her tongue out at her sister.

"His eyes," Mimi says, so quiet everybody else stops talking to focus their attention on the woman. Mimi looks at Grace, welling up. "You have his eyes."

"I think I have Mom's mouth," Grace mutters, finally, pushing her food around on her plate for the first time. Thinking about every time she has looked in the mirror, studied intently. She's spent at least a few hours just memorizing her own face, all over again. "And Mom's nose," she adds, sly, in Aubrey's direction. "And her cheekbones. Mom is definitely _there, _I just- I've figured out that I favor my father more."

"I think you look like a princess," Rosy juts in knowingly, cheeky. "Even if Mommy and Auntie Aubrey say you're old."

Grace raises her eyebrows, watches the women blush in unison. "We were just saying that we would've rubbed in Will's face that he has a kid who is almost in college," Aubrey offers up, as meek as she can get.

Uncle Eric, Sarah's husband, chortles. "Chicago's Sixteenth Most Eligible Bachelor, everybody."

/

Grace stays in her father's old room. The posters on the walls scream eighties, and she shudders to think what has actually gone on in the room, but it smells different, and the cologne on the vanity she sniffs because she's being weird- and it's just. It's interesting.

A few more days of sightseeing in the city, being shown all the old haunts of Aubrey, of Sarah- and, by extension, her father- and it feels like a lifetime. It feels like growing into new skin, patch worked into her old skin, her old being. She's transforming, and she can feel it.

Maybe, just maybe, she hasn't been lying, when she says she's okay.

Maybe, she's getting there, every single day.

/

On the day before her last day in Baltimore, Aubrey approaches her, clutching a guitar.

"Do you know how to play?" Aubrey asks her, brown eyes unsure. Testing.

"No," Grace's lips turn downward, a set, determined hover in her state. Aubrey helps her hold the guitar, and Grace views just the right angle. Sees the carving in the neck, runs her fingers over her father's initials. "But I'd like to learn."

/

Zach texts her, a few hours before she's supposed to leave for the airport to go home.

Apologizes for what he's done, for being a nosy big brother, but not really. After Grace reads the news, she sets down the phone and plops back on her father's old bed, buries her face in her hands. Begins to laugh.

Begins to shriek in tandem, blithe. Pure blithe.

/

"What is it?" Aubrey bursts in, Sarah on her tail. Mimi is toddling along, face white at all the noise. It sounded like Grace was being strangled, or attacked or-

"My sign," Grace says, like that's supposed to make any sense. "It's my sign, I-

"What?" Sarah murmurs, confused. "What are you—

"I got into Georgetown on early decision," Grace announces, pulling Rosy into her arms. "And the letter says I'm eligible for academic scholarships, and I think this is my sign that-

But Grace stops, running her hands through her cousin's hair adoringly. "Never mind. It's just a sign that everything is going to be alright, I think."

/

.

.

.

fin.


End file.
